


We Gladly Feast on Those Who Would Subdue Us

by waltzing_marionettes



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Addams Family References, Alexis gets everything he deserves (and more), Alexis is a creep and deserves everything he gets, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism, Cannibalism Puns, Cat reincarnation, F/M, Gomez/Morticia-inspired relationship, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied Pregnancy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, Inspired by Addams Family, Light smut in chapter 1, Revenge, Romance, Very brief mention of eating disorder, Wedding dinners, gruesome, implied/referenced animal cruelty, somehow Augusta/Nico became another otp and i’m not sorry, the tone is more lighthearted than the themes imply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzing_marionettes/pseuds/waltzing_marionettes
Summary: ”Just rub salt in the wounds, will you?!” Alexis cried out in tremendous pain, coughing up more blood over the pure white table linen.Something wicked gleamed within Augusta’s golden eyes as she turned to face her husband with a delighted gasp, ”Oh, darling, doesn’t that sound like a splendid idea?”Nicholas only gave a thin smile in response, baring a cruel glitter of teeth, and gave her gloved hand another kiss, ”Indeed. I’ll bring the salt.”
Relationships: Alexis/death and eternal suffering, Augusta/OC
Kudos: 1





	We Gladly Feast on Those Who Would Subdue Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilacPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacPrince/gifts).

> So I 100% wrote this to make myself feel better about what’s gonna happen to my oc Nico in the future chapters of Dearest Delilah. I hate Alexis with every fiber of my being and this is the au where he gets what he deserves
> 
> What have I done
> 
> Title is the Addams family motto from the 1991 movie, by the way. I decided to split the story up into chapters, one per character.
> 
> (Beware the warnings)

Another suitor had disappeared, and left London in terror. There had been no bodies to be found, no proper burial to be arranged. Not even a single button from a single wristband were left behind. It was almost as if the thick, cold night mist had swallowed them whole.

The great city of London trembled with the whispers of them, all the missing suitors of the infamous Lady Augusta Hargreaves, and the shadow of death that seemed to follow in her every footstep. Any man who came too close to her would sooner or later meet their doom, seemingly erased from the face of the earth. As quick as the leaves fell from the trees in the parks, they had vanished, leaving Scotland Yard aghast. The traces always ended in dark alleyways where no respectable gentleman would dream of setting his foot, and no witnesses, high- or low-born, were to be found.

Soon enough, every unmarried gentleman of London were warned by their mothers not to court her, not speak or dance or flirt with her, to not even meet her eye. Not unless they desired to meet the same fate as those already taken. Some of the more spiteful rumors whispered that she would rob them of all their strength, and swallow them whole, that she would gladly feast on their flesh, like the heartless Delilah she was. But like moths to a candlelight flame, they were drawn to Augusta, to the golden flecks in her eyes, gleaming, flickering in the dark, towards their own inevitable doom.

Augusta soon withdrew herself from society, only stepping outside dressed in the deepest shades of black, as if in mourning. With so many, so cruel rumors floating around with the bone-chilling October winds, it wasn’t many who could see the shadow that followed in her footsteps, silently skulking, never far away, always watching with its cold green eyes. With fewer and fewer suitor remaining, there were not many left to see it, the way that he shadow followed her, breathing down her neck, with each and every suitor lost a cold, deadly white pearl to ensnare her, slowly closing themselves around her throat.

Her brother, Lord Alexis Hargreaves, rarely left her side these days. She was a target now, he whispered; someone wanted to smear her reputation beyond all repair, that with almost all her suitors gone, she might very well be next. But he had sworn that no harm should befall her, that every last stain on her honour should be vanquished. As her brother, bound to her by blood, that was his one and only privilege.

To Augusta, however, his words seemed more like a threat than a promise. Only he knew that she had never been entirely pure, not even when she first stepped into the court of St. James and her first season in London. She was already ruined when she had drawn the eyes and more than a few gasps from both ladies and gentlemen alike, dressed in ivory, golden and shining, when she soon became a celebrated beauty, famous for her dark hair and the golden flecks in her eyes that she had inherited from her Italian mother, for her blood-red scandalous smile. Yes, the night-black hair and _those eyes_ were the only likeness between Augusta and her delicate, angelic mother. They were both shining, luminous, but while Mama was sweet and pure and chaste, Augusta dressed in silk to hide her scars, bathed herself in perfume so that no one would notice the reek of rotten flesh, painted her lips in the same red as her own blood to mask that she was dying, that she was already dead.

(How they all desired her, unaware that the woman they lusted after was nothing more than a corpse with a heartbeat, a living ghost.)

She was well aware that the city of London had its countless eyes set on her, the gossip that swarmed around her, the rumors that followed her every step. The city was already teeming with whispers of the Hargreaves siblings, of how Augusta had bewitched the capital with those eyes of hers, just like her mother Angioletta once had bewitched all of _Venezia_ and even an English Lord, and how Alexis had recently graduated from a prestigious university to join his father’s exclusive science club, a genius who could very well spark a revolution into the world of medical science. The Hargreaves family had always stood out in terms of _bella figura_, golden and shining, with their good name balancing on the edge of a knife.

But no one knew of his foul whispers and the relentless gaze that still made her skin crawl, his touches that grew bolder and more forceful by every year, the vile kisses that he used to silence her protests. No one knew that she had made sure to lock her bedchamber doors every night since the age of perhaps fourteen or fifteen, because even if he had not gone all the way with her yet, she was still haunted by endless nightmares in which he had his way with her, nightmares in which he finally _did_. No one knew of the bird that he had cut open or the kitten that he had crushed under the heel of his boot, of the poison that he had slipped into Mama’s nightly medicine so that she lost another unborn baby and nearly her own life, of how she still whispered to Augusta how she wished that she had died that day, of how their old nursemaid, Mrs. Sprout, who he had shifted the blame to, had left the Hargreaves house for the noose. No one knew what pleasure their _darling Alexis_ took in crushing the spirits of those around him, how much blood he had on his hands, and none of them could see how he had smeared it all over her skin for an entire decade, how utterly tainted she was with it.

Not yet.

They both knew that she had always been just a whisper away from ruination, from being shunned by her mother, from being forced to kneel and beg for forgiveness underneath her father’s cane. _You have always been a corrupting influence on my boy,_ came Papa’s voice, cold as the building frost on each and every window, _I do hope you remember that wicked girls, like you, will always meet their rightful fate in the fiery depths of Hell._ The knowledge, the memories of it all rested there within her, like a parasite confined beneath her ribs, slowly eating away at her insides until there was nothing left. So how could she possibly speak of it, tear herself open, to Mama or Papa or Scotland Yard, without bleeding out on the carpet, without feeding the rumors with her own flesh, without staining the Hargreaves name beyond all repair? Who would ever believe a wicked, heartless temptress like herself?

For a decade, Augusta had slowly been smothered under the weight of her own silence, unable to put it into words without risking that the thin, trecherous cracks in her would shatter and spill. Not until now.

Now, when she thought that she may have found someone who perhaps, maybe, could see even the aching, bleeding parts of her without pulling away, horrified, disgusted. Someone who could still love her, despite it all, like everyone around her loved all those pure, perfect women, without brothers like hers. _Like Mama_.

With a twist of irony, it was Alexis who had introduced them to one another, on the evening of the first masquerade ball of the season. As any young man who had just graduated, her brother swarmed himself with alcohol and friends, but unlike the rest of them, he insisted on stringing along a spindly black silhouette by the collar of his neck, almost like a pet. It was merely through a chance of luck that she actually found out his name: Nicholas Blackwood. 

He could have been rather strapping with his raven hair and eyes, but his face was pale and sunken like a ghost, and his entire frame seemed almost dangerously thin next to those of his old classmates. Someone fragile and flickering, like the will-o’-the-wisp that had been his disguise, someone else with the shadow of Death itself following close behind. 

It turned out that Nicholas had been a student at the same university as Alexis, and with a grip that tightened around his neck, that had barely just passed all his classes. Laughter broke out amongst Alexis’s friends. Augusta met her brother’s eyes with a sting of accusation, for she sensed some of it, that her brother must have tormented Nicholas for years. It lay unspoken in the words Alexis had introduced him to her with (_...nothing more than a beast, really, starved of both food and love, our very own Mr. Caliban..._), in the way his friends had snickered among each other, in the way which Nicholas had avoided her eyes, shaking; that this man must have been dying for years. That Alexis and his friends delighted in tearing him to shreds. She could feel it all in her brother’s smug words of warning, whispered in her ear with a hot, heavy breath and a discreet hand at the back of her waist:

”Be careful, dear sister. Be careful so that he won’t eat you up.”

At first, Augusta had only wanted justice for him, when she had invited him to join her for the waltz. It was only fair, she thought, to see their mortified expressions, their defeated gasps. What she did not expect, however, was to see Nicholas’s face light up with a tender smile, one that filled out the hollowness of his cheeks in a way that made her want to draw him closer, savour his warmth. ”You saved me,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe, as the first trembling tone of violins soared through the ballroom, ”I don’t think I would have survived another day in his presence.”

”Neither did I”, she whispered back, as they took the first sweeping step together, holding back the memories with a vulnerable smile, ”Neither did I.”

It had been the start of something which Augusta couldn’t quite name. Of lingering kisses in the gardens to the distant wail of the violins, of pleasurable touches and red marks to the inside of her thighs, veiled by the willows and the blooming wisteria, of the thrill of being guided to secret spots by the light of the lantern he carried, by the tiny, trembling flame which they blew out whenever they found each other in the dark. Of quick moments stolen in the carriages during balls, or in private rooms at the opera with the aria rising behind closed doors, his adoring eyes and sweet smile as she straddled him, a pleasurable surge in the pit of her stomach as he buried himself inside her and his teeth into her shoulder, as she slid her hands underneath his opened collar and felt his warm breath against her neck, his tightening grip around her waist, around her hips, urging on her rhythm and her heart from _andante_ to _allegro_, the waves of pleasure that followed every pulse and thrust and moan, to _allegrissimo_, the way he gasped her name and she his, as the swelling crescendo drowned out their finishing cries, a final, trembling _fortissimo_. The way which he leaned in to stroke her face as she shakily pulled herself away, like she was precious, adored, and how it all made her waver.

She knew what it was like to have suitors, lovers, ladies and gentlemen alike. She had turned to them to forget the memories of her brother’s hands on her body. She knew what it was like to break hearts without batting as much as an eyelash. She had never rejected as many proposals as now, when she thought that she had found someone who made her feel like she could perhaps live, if he was there with her. What she had with Nicholas was nothing like having neither a suitor nor a lover.

They waltzed together in the gardens and the empty halls to piano pieces and the swirling violins that came from the ballroom. They played their favourite pieces together on the piano, sharing bashful laughs every time their fingers brushed together. They promenaded along the graveyards in moonlight and in rain, and read each other poems by dead authors on lovely stormy nights, delighting in the works of Shelley and Poe and Baudelaire’s _Une Charogne_ (which he loved nothing more than to read and to dedicate to her with a sweet little laugh). They shared their secrets, their hopes and sorrows and dreams. They wrote long letters where they could finally put words on thoughts that were too dangerous to speak of out loud; how they both loved men and women alike, how those around them never truly had accepted them, how they both seemed to suffer under the same man. They embraced each other, weeping, while they revealed to each other all the memories that they could bear to speak of, while they held the widening cracks in each other together by their bare hands, hidden by the veil of darkness.

His young sister Luna soon admitted to have seen them in the shadows, seen them piece each other back together. For a moment Augusta’s blood froze, but Luna swore that she would take their secret to her grave. ”He really has changed, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen my brother smile like that for years,” she continued with a tentative voice, a hopeful glint in her dark eyes, ”...and somehow, I think that you seem to have changed too.”

And indeed, Augusta found that Nicholas slowly came to life again, that his bony frame had begun to slowly fill out, that the colour had returned to his face, that light freckles now dotted his nose. Something mischevious had even started to awaken in his smile whenever they spent time in each other’s company. She noticed how she laughed more these days, genuine laughs, how she herself went from a living ghost, to someone who maybe, perhaps, could imagine living again, living so that she could spend another moment with him, living so that Nicholas could bear to live as well.

However, they both knew that nothing of it meant that they were truly safe, that they were free of him yet. Countless suitors and sisters had been taken since the day they first had met.

Every day and every night, Nicholas lived with the undisputable fact that he himself would be next. He had never intended for it to happen, to allow himself to get so deeply involved with a Hargreaves, he had confessed, not when the bearers of that very name caused the memories to stir, awakened by the mere syllables. And who could blame him? Her brother had turned him into a living, breathing ghost, a corpse with a heartbeat, with almost no life left behind his night-black irises. And Augusta understood. She wouldn’t fault him if he never proposed. Not when she was bound to his tormentor by blood. 

Yes, Nicholas did indeed have his own secrets. She sensed that there were things that he never spoke of, things that only slipped out in the dark, far away from the bustling streets and the whispering crowds. Often, Augusta found herself without words to offer, because sometimes, there were none. Sometimes all she had was a soothing caress or the warmth of an embrace, and sometimes, it was just enough.

Even in the carriage for one last outing to Kew Gardens before all the leaves had fallen, Augusta took his hand when her brother turned his head, and sat there with him, fingers entwined, in silence. The afternoon flowed peacefully, with gentle laughter and long strolls in the park, with picnic blankets and pumpkin pies. Augusta soon helped herself to a third slice, and today, even Nicholas seemed to enjoy the meal. But Alexis’s relentless gaze kept burning into the back of their necks as they ate, so when she saw Nicholas suddenly drop his fork, trembling, they slipped away together in the autumn mist, glowing nearly golden the last rays of the dying sun. The shadows were growing longer around them and the sky would soon shift into a deep, inky blue. As they moved swiftly through the park, the first lanterns lit up and lead them the way, one by one, like fireflies. The cold seeped in through the billowing layers of skirts and petticoats, but Augusta only felt the building pitter-patter of her own heart behind her corseted ribs and the warmth of Nicholas’s hand as he squeezed hers tighter, only felt a twinge in her chest as she saw a wet, golden flash of a passing lantern in his dark irises. He met her eyes with a pained smile, and tears that threatened to spill if he spoke. Augusta threw around a hurried glance in search for a private spot, and soon, the sudden warmth of the greenhouse puffed against their cheeks and the large, brooding leaves shielded them from the outside world. Despite it all, as they sat themselves down beneath the lush greenery of the Palm House, with the building darkness and the frost looming over the arched glass building, to speak was just what Nicholas did.

”Do you know why I stopped eating back then? Your brother, and his friends... They said that I... They spread rumors that I—” He took a sharp breath and furiously wiped the tears from his eyes before he could bear to continue, ”They spread rumors that I lived on the flesh - human flesh - of the dissected. That what they did was for my own good, that they only meant to tame me, like some sort of beast...! That if they ever stopped doing all those _things_ to me, I would go mad one day, and feast on the flesh of them all!”

”Nicholas...” She whispered, reaching out a hesitant hand, offered him her handkerchief.

”I’m sorry,” He sniffled, and shook his head, ”I never thought that I would tell you this. I was afraid that I would shock and disgust you if I did, that I would only hurt you and drive you away... That I would lose you.”

”Oh, Nicholas...” Augusta took a careful, trembling breath, placed her hand on his cheek. ”You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Unwavering, she met his eyes, voice quivering with her own memories, ”I’m still here.”

New tears welled up behind Nicholas’s eyes, gleaming in the dim light. ”Don’t you despise me?” he urged, unable to stop them, unable to hold any of it back any longer, ”He’s your brother after all, and I’m just— I’m just—”

He reached to cover his face, as if dissolving, and Augusta could not bear to watch any longer. She took him in her arms and embraced him, held him so close to her that she could hear every heartbeat and every shaking sob, held him in fear that they both would shatter if she let go. Nicholas slowly wrapped his arms around her, and buried his head in the small of her neck. _Tell him_, begged a small voice in the back of her mind, _tell him everything. Now is the time._

”Never,” She said, pulling him closer, for she felt her voice beginning to slip and betray her, felt the taste of her own tears in her mouth, ”I could never... In fact, I think that he also did... That I as well...!”

And so, it all spilled out, their bleeding innermosts, hidden beneath the silent, arching leaves. Augusta did not know how long they sat there, trying to piece each other back together again, nor did she care to know. Her body shook with an uncontrollable rage, over everything he had been forced to endure, over the tears that streaked her face as she spoke, over his suffering and her own, all caused by the very same man. Nicholas held her so very gently as she told him everything, of her brother’s vile kisses and hungry touches and of his shadow that kept drawing closer, swallowing everything in its path. Still, she feared the inevitable, that he would recoil, that he would let go, that he would look at her ruined self in disgust and simply leave her, now when her deepest, darkest secret had been laid bare.

But Nicholas did not leave. Instead, he sat there very still, with his hands gently laid over hers, flickers of pain and grief and rage etching themselves deeper into his face the longer she spoke, as if... As if...

_As if they truly shared each other’s suffering._

The darkness had since long fallen when his sister Luna finally found them, huddled together in the heart of the Palm House. Nicholas’s small smile shifted into something more vulnerable as he pulled away and offered her his hand, and they slowly raised themselves to meet the groundkeeper, who waited outside with his keys. She could hear them in the distance now, Mama’s relieved cry and Papa’s indignant utterances drawing closer. Further along the path stood Alexis, tall and erect, regarding them with a sharp glance in the corner of his eye. After a couple of scoldings and a tight embrace from Mama, the time to return home had finally arrived, along with their carriages.

The path to the gates lead them through a dark, scattered grove, with only the light of the lanterns to guide them home. Augusta and Nicholas found themselves drifting from the others until they were hidden underneath the shadows of the trees, moving closer inbetween the breath of each lantern. The moon rose behind veils of mist, and the long arms of the trees quivered in the building wind. Luna’s shadow danced across the path while she ran past them for an idle chat with with Alexis, as if the promise to chaperone them had just accidentally slipped from her mind. It was only then, obscured by the darkness, that Augusta finally dared to lean her head against Nicholas’s shoulder, and Nicholas found the courage to wrap his hand around her waist. In the shadows, no one could see their soft smiles as they whispered to one another, the huffs of smoke that rose with hushed laughs, or how the touch of his hand made her soften, tremble with something unspoken; that she adored him. The words were there behind her lips, a mere whisper away, and threatened to spill out when he looked at her with something new in his eyes, as if she was even more precious to him now. It all caused something new to stir within her, something so very vulnerable that it made her shiver. She closed her eyes and drew him close, to savour this moment, before it was torn away from them. Before they had to bid each other farewell.

And so, the inevitable moment came. The Hargreaves and Blackwood families stopped in front of the carriages, and Nicholas slowly, reluctantly let go of her, before they finally stepped out into the light. A cold night breeze ruffled through all the layers of fabric and caused gooseflesh to break out all over Augusta’s skin. From a distance, Alexis watched them in silence, his gaze growing thinner with each step. Pleasantries were exchanged, and farewells were said. And still, while Augusta whispered a fond farewell to her beloved, as Nicholas just briefly touched her fingers, she could feel her brother’s lingering gaze at the back of her neck.

”Sister,” he demanded, ”We must go.”

A flicker of desperation lit up Nicholas’s eyes, and he whispered her name as if this was the last time they spoke, and Augusta herself feared the same. Their hands slowly drifted apart, as she stepped up into the carriage.

Then, with the soft neighing of the horses and a crack of the coachman’s whip, they slowly set off. Augusta sat very still, with Nicholas’s fingerprints fading against her skin, watching her own golden, crumbling reflection melt together with the dark world outside. And then, as if carried by a night breeze, another carriage sweeped in beside them. There, inbetween the layers of glass and reflections, she saw the dark outlines of a gentleman dressed in black, his pale face glowing as he turned his head towards her. In less than a breath, she met Nicholas’s night-black eyes, lit up by the gas lanterns (and perhaps something more), saw his mouth part with words unspoken. She slowly pressed her fingers to her lips, and he did the same, but before either of them could press their fingers to the window glass, the carriage moved past his and his face slowly disappeared from view.

Augusta sat there, breathless, fingers pressed to the cold, smooth glass, and watched the Blackwood carriage shrink into a small spot of light, almost like a will-o’-the-wisp, flickering before it finally disappeared into the thick London mist.

Aside from the visit to Kew Gardens, Augusta did not step outside much anymore. Wherever she went, she was followed by the whispers of her lost suitors and the speculations on who would be next, and it all made her sick to her stomach (which she had been for quite a while now, she realised with a wry smile. No wonder why Mama insisted on keeping her cooped up inside). Alexis kept her under a tighter watch, but not even he could stop her from slipping away to the guest rooms, those nights when Papa invited the Blackwood family over to stay. Their father’s had been friends and accomplices for years, so Augusta and Nicholas made sure to take every chance given now, before the inevitable would happen. When the days grew colder, he was the only warmth left in her life, and warmth was all that she craved. She found that she had grown hungrier now, both for food and for him, and Nicholas gladly welcomed her into his bed every time they visited. As of lately, he was more tender with her, placing reverent kisses all over her skin, to her breasts and her stomach, to the sensitive insides of her thighs, and she drew him closer, closer, afraid to let go. Around them, the nights grew longer, and slowly, the shadows closed in on them, inch by inch and night by night.

She spent nearly all of October waiting. His young sister, Luna, sat beside her, quietly, watching with intelligent dark eyes, offering her handkerchief and her kindest words. Her quiet warmth, so similar to Nicholas’s, both moved and terrified Augusta. Like everything precious and fragile in her life, like Mrs. Sprout and Bramble and Mama, she was afraid that it all would shatter from the slightest touch, all because she had dared to come too close, drawn out of the abyss by his kindness, like a moth to an open flame. He wasn’t supposed to adore her, his tormentor’s sister, a heartless temptress, a Delilah who could only destroy everyone she touched, and still, somehow, he did. Not even her ruined body, rotten from her brother’s touch, deterred Nicholas. This sort of love, this _kindness_ hurt worse than anything her brother had put her through. (The memory of Nicholas’s face in the Palm House told her that perhaps, he understood. Perhaps he too understood the pain that came from gentleness.) Although she wouldn’t fault him if he never proposed, she still found herself filled with longing, with a sense of dread; if they were seen together again, something told her that he would be the next to be snatched away, and then— what would become of her? What would become of _him?_

Quite unexpectedly, happiness had come to her on a rather chilly evening, with a knock on the door and a proposal most unusual. Nicholas arrived at her doorstep, nearly soaked from the rain, and demanded to Mr. Chambers that he must see Lady Augusta at once. It was then, with a creak of the stairs, that she slowly stepped down into sight, her heart thundering against her ribs. When the paraffin lantern in her hands lit up Nicholas’s face, his mouth parted in a silent gasp. Outside, the downpour faded into a light drizzle. ”Lady Augusta?” Mr. Chambers urged, ”What on earth is going on?” That was when Nicholas had brought out the ring.

Somewhere, Chambers dropped his tray with a gasp. But Augusta barely took any notice of it, for she saw only Nicholas reverent gaze, the vulnerable smile on his face as he went down on his knee.

A gold ring in the shape of a serpent, with gleaming ruby eyes, tied around the collar of a trembling, blue-grey kitten. (Just like Bramble, who her brother had stomped to death all those years ago—) Augusta had to choke back a sob, blink away the memories that flooded to her eyes, and somehow, a true smile grew in her face. How did he—? How could he possibly...? (There were certain things that she had never been able to speak of, not even to Nicholas, not to anyone, and this, this was one of them.)

”Once, there was a time when I thought that I was a living ghost. I never thought that I would live long enough to even consider marriage, I thought that I would be dead and buried long before the age of twenty-five. But with you, I’ve found that I want to live, I want to recover, and I want nothing more than to be here for you, to help you heal from everything that that vile bastard did to you— Lady Augusta, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

”Yes,” She surprised herself with a sudden laugh, and dropped to her knees to meet his eyes, ”Yes, a thousand times yes!”

Mr. Chambers stood there, gaping most indignantly when he reached her the squeaking kitten with the ring, and from the stairs came Papa’s booming voice; ”What is all this racket?! Chambers, who on earth would be rude enough to pay a visit at this hour?”

Even Earl Hargreaves himself couldn’t help but to gasp and gape at the sight of them, of Nicholas, down on his knee.

To Augusta’s surprise, Papa had accepted their engagement almost immeadiately, with some convincing from Mama. Earl Blackwood was one of his closest friends, after all, and Nicholas seemed both kind and responsible. However, there was still a certain someone standing in the way for their happiness. They both had come to understand that if they were to live long enough to say their vows, they needed to rid themselves of Alexis somehow.

It was luck, or perhaps fate, that Nicholas’s father had access to the inmermost projects of Papa’s secret science society. They poured over the forbidden documents together, and made a rather gruesome discovery regarding the fates of every suitor and every sister. All the sordid details, every incision and injection, every gasp and cry and moan, each and every fetus in his collection meticulously labeled. Augusta felt an icy surge to her insides, and her hand travelled down to her stomach - she thought she would be sick. This, this was what had haunted her nightmares for so many years, what she rather would have have died than to experience. This was what Alexis planned to do to her. This was what would await her, if they did not act immediately.

It was Nicholas who came to her with a most unconventional (and rather horrifying) suggestion, one that drew a delicate gasp and a curious grin from Augustas lips. How perfectly ironic - how she would _love_ to see the look on her brother’s face when he finally realised what was coming for him...! She was well aware that their methods would shock and disgust everyone around them, and somehow, that made it all the more compelling to her. And it wasn’t exactly like they were planning to get caught. (If that was the case, they would simply have resorted to a sloppy back-alley murder and gladly danced their way to the gallows.) Unfortunately for Alexis, Augusta and Nicholas found that they wanted to live, unashamed and unapologeticly, and for that to happen, for a brighter future almost within reach, this had to be done.

Everything had already been prepared. Luna had told them that the Blackwood family owned a small mansion located in the outskirts of London, where any of the family members rarely set their foot these days. (_Too much death_, they said. _This house has been ridden with too much death over the years_. It suited them both perfectly.) Everything they needed had already been sent over to their doorstep. A custom tombstone had already been ordered, a nameless one, with a special inscription, the sort of which were used for lost children or beloved pets. Yes, everything had been arranged. The only missing piece was her brother. Alexis Hargreaves.

Neither Augusta nor Nicholas had ever done such a thing before. Neither of them had dared to as much as dream of it. However, with his shadow drawing nearer, with suitor after suitor vanishing in the mist, it became more and more apparent that they simply _had to_, that they now had no other choice but to rid themselves of him, and now not only to protect one another. Quite recently, it had come undeniable that she and Nicholas shared yet another secret. Even now, she knew that she was living on borrowed time, before the masses would start to whisper, before Nicholas would be taken like the others, and leave her with the growing threat of ruination hidden deep underneath her skin.

Which was why he laced her corset a few inches tighter with outmost care, before re-buttoning her trousers and her shirt, his dark unfaltering gaze meeting hers, their noses brushing and their warm breaths blending together, as he dressed her into a suit of his own, into a proper gentleman. With a tender touch to his cheek, a soft kiss to her jaw, the words hung unspoken between them. Tonight was their only chance.


End file.
